Saving Eachother
by Viral Infection
Summary: Tony Stark needed a break. Steve Rogers needed a chance. When a random meeting sends these two into a chaotic spiral down the metaphorical rabbit hole, how will they cope? Can they work together? Or will they end up going for eachother's throats? Slash. / A.U. / OOC / No heroes! Human only! / I own nothing and I regret nothing!
1. Life Is Great!

"Did you sign the papers I left for you?"

"Yeah."

"Did you finish those stock reports?"

"Yes, though I'm pretty sure I have people that are supposed to take care of that."

"Did you finish reading the income and outcome statistics?"

"No, but I'm sure they're all like the last ones… and the ones before that… and the ones before that…"

"I need you to update your résumé and send it to the head council's office."

"Why can't I just let Jarvis do it? He knows me better than I know myself. Actually, why is there even a head council? Why didn't I just fire them earlier?"

"Because it needs to be handwritten and because you need someone to keep your company running in case something ever happened to you."

"Oh please, if that ever happened, you know you're the next one in line for the CEO position. I have said so myself, and everybody knows it."

"What if I quit?"

"You won't quit, you know you love too much."

"What if something happened to me?"

"Jarvis would take over."

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"He's joking Jarvis."

"_I see."_

"No, I'm not joking. I'm sure Jarvis is smart enough to run the company all by himself. He knows the system inside and outside. There's no one better than him."

"Then why are you still running the company?"

"'Cause I'm not dead yet."

"Tony, when are you gonna grow the hell up and take things seriously?"

"Pepper, when are you gonna stop being so high-strung and relax for a minute?"

"I'll stop being high-strung when you stop being immature."

"And I'll stop being immature when you stop being high-strung."

"That's a bit of an oxymoron isn't it?"

"It would be if we decided to climb the stairs downward and swim on the ground."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't know. Want a drink?"

"Stop changing the subject!"

Pepper's hands collided violently with Tony's work bench and the whole table shook with the force she applied. Tony's head craned up slowly to look at his assistant/best friend's face and his eyes landed on Pepper's look of annoyance. She was known to be violent when she was upset. She had never beaten anyone up, but she had a mean right hook and she could slap like the devil.

Tony has been on the receiving end of some of Pepper's angry moments. Let's just say those are better left forgotten.

So as the rational, self-preserving man he was, he decided that his crude humor had over stayed his welcome and he put down his tools to give Pepper all his attention. He sighed and closed his eyes as he massaged his temple. He felt a headache coming on and he was pretty sure it was because of Pepper's loud outburst.

Or it could have been the four glasses of Scotch he had earlier.

"Pepper look. I'm just not in the mood to deal with business right now. I know you're stressed, but I'm stressed too! The whole future of Stark Industries rests on my shoulders and I think I deserve some time to unwind and relax."

"You don't think I know that? Tony, how long have we known each other?"

"I think we met when we were in diapers."

"And how long have we been working together?"

"Eleven years, five months, six hours and twenty-nine minutes…But who's counting?"

"… Dear God. Sometimes I forget you're a genius."

"Thank you."

"A very stupid genius."

"Ouch…"

"All I'm saying is that even though I know you're stressed, you shouldn't look over your duties as if they're not there. Stop neglecting your work. You're a smart man! You can figure something out! You can have your work done _and _find some time to relax in less than a week! I know it's a tedious job, but if you don't do it, then no one will! And if no one does it, then we're all screwed, you're out of a job and you can say goodbye to all this wealthy living."

Tony stayed silent for a moment. He knew that what Pepper had just said was right, but he was just too damn tired to care. He had been working hard and honestly, he enjoyed his job. But sometimes he just needed to get away from it all. He needed to breathe and be Tony Stark: the witty, smart, laid back man, not Mr. Anthony Edward Stark: the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, entrepreneur that everyone was always talking about. In his thirty-two years of life all he had known was work, build, discover, work, build, discover, work, build, discover and- oh look! –work, build, discover.

That was one of the many reasons he enjoyed drinking.

Not to mention he was also a playboy extraordinaire. He slept around as much as person breathed in one single day, and yet he never stuck to the same devices. He had been with enough women to fill an entire football field. Hell! He had been with other guys too just to try it out, and he must say it was not half bad at all. He had all the options in his grasp and he made sure to use them as much as possible. He had no intentions of settling down any time soon and he made sure to make everyone else quite aware of that.

But, sadly, good things weren't meant to last and at the end of it he still had to go back home. Back to work and back to this tension-ridden world he called his every-day life. And that's where the drinks were pulled into play. Drinking sometimes helped ease his mind. It helped him cope with every obstacle he came across in his life- and trust me; there were a lot of obstacles. He drank to relax, to forget, to enjoy and to fade. Fade away into an alcohol-induced state of happiness that only being drunk could provide.

And yet, he had been privy to find the cure for hang overs. If there was something he hated, it was most surely hang overs. He hated them with such a passion that just the mere thought of one brought a painful cloud to his thoughts. That, coupled with his slowly growing headache, only helped to sour his mood.

"Pepper, you know you're right. I know you're right. We all know your right." Tony said as he motioned around the room to show Pepper that when he said 'all' he meant all the mechanical contraptions that moved about the room. Including Jarvis, the well-known A.I.

"Let's just not talk about this ok Pepper? I'm tired, I'm not in a good mood and my head is starting to feel like one of ACDC's drums." The man said with a sigh as he rubbed his temples a little more.

"Tony when was the last time you had a good night's sleep?"

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_?"

"No Pepper, I don't know. I don't remember and, truth is, I don't care either."

"Tony, go to bed."

"I'm a little bit busy right now."

"I don't give a damn."

"Pepper…"

"No, listen to me Tony. I have worked my ass off for this company and I have worked my ass off for you. And I sure as hell am not gonna let you destroy yourself. You can continue your work tomorrow, it's not going anywhere. Or rather, you are going somewhere." Pepper's face contorted in what was most obviously a look awe. As if she had suddenly found the cure for cancer.

"Care to make some sense ?"

"Oh sure! You, , are going on vacation!"

"I'm sorry, come again?"

"You are going on vacation!"

"Pepper I can't possibly just."

"Shut it!"

Tony promptly closed his mouth and locked it tight.

"Listen to me, and listen to me carefully Tony. Right now you are going to drop your project and take a breather. In other words: You are gonna march your ass up the stairs and to your room. You're gonna get some rest and tomorrow you are gonna pack. You will pack anything and everything except your technological gizmos. The only thing you will take is your iPhone and no, you are not allowed to take your other cellphone."

"But my other phone is way better!"

"It is also a distraction. It is full of all your technological database and you are absolutely not allowed to work on your vacation. Not even on your phone!"

"But-"

"Am I clear Anthony Edward Stark?" Pepper voice boomed around Tony's lab. He was surprised that such a small woman could generate such a volume to her voice, but it was all the incentive he took to reply in a small oh-fuck-I'm-screwed voice.

"Yes ma'am." He replied meekly.

"Good! Tomorrow you will pack and choose a destination. You have until tomorrow night to grab some clothes your _iPhone_and pick a destination. I will cancel and transfer all your appointments so you can have _two weeks_ all to yourself."

"Two weeks?" Tony asked appalled. "I cannot possibly go away for two weeks!"

"Yes you can AND YES YOU WILL!" The woman shouted so loudly that the ringing noise in Tony's ears was almost deafening. Even the robots scattered for cover and opted to run and hide behind the dozens of counters that layered the lab.

"Are we clear Tony?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good… Now _move_!" Pepper's arm shot out and pointed to the glass doors that led up the stairs and up to Tony's living room. He wasted no time and promptly ran up the stairs like a bat out of hell being chased by the devil itself.

He reached his room and once inside slammed his door and locked it as if it would protect him from the demon-woman lurking in his house. He sighed and began stripping his clothes. He was down to his boxers when he finally flopped on his bed. Immediately he felt all the tension ebb away and he sighed tiredly.

"This is gonna be one hell of a vacation."

Those were the last thoughts before he drifted off to sleep.

x~O~x

"Welcome to Johnny Rockets! May I take your order?"

"Ummm… We're not ready to order yet…"

"Oh, no problem. Do you have anything to drink in mind or should I come back shortly to get your full order?"

"A few minutes would be good, thank you."

"Sure thing!" The blonde waiter excused himself politely from the table and went to the back of the restaurant using the "Employee's only" door. He sighed as he made his way over to the bathroom. Once inside he locked the door and looked at himself in the mirror.

He was tired and he was ready to go home and curl up in his bed. No matter how tired he truly was, his reflection never showed none of this. The only way for anyone to acknowledge his exhaustion would be to look into his eyes and search for it. But there were also the subtle hints. Like the way he slouched whenever he stood. The way he walked slowly across the diner's main room. The way he talked was also lacking. Normally he would be his bright happy-go-lucky self. But Work was strenuous. He was having trouble sleeping and it didn't help that he had to work the late shifts. But then again, that was his own fault. He had decided to work the afternoon shifts because he had study in the morning. And working in the afternoon was the only choice.

He was not going to college per se, but he was taking singing lessons in one of the classrooms of his community college. Ever since he was a child, he had always wanted to become a singer. His mother had once told him he could become anything he set his mind into and she would always be proud of him as long as he made the right decisions. She always encouraged him to sign for her.

While she washed the dishes, while she did the laundry, whenever his attention wasn't occupied by anything trivial, she'd ask for him to sing to her. Ever since he was a child, his mother had always loved to hear him sing.

One time he had refused to sign for her because he instead wanted to play his video games. She asked him a few time, almost pleadingly but he never relented. She gave up and kissed her son's cheek before going to work that night. She was a nurse and she had to go into work that night at the hospital.

That night his mother never came back.

Her body was found a few days later. Apparently she had been mugged on her way to the parking lot. After finishing her shift in the wee hours of the morning, she had been assaulted. Yet, the police never found out who did it or why.

He could still remember the way his mother asked him to sing for her that night. He could still remember the dejected look he she had on her face after he refused. Even though his mother quickly went back to her happy, serene mood right before she left, he had felt guilty for rejecting her.

He had wanted to apologize the morning after, but he never got the chance.

He looked back at his reflection and he watched as a few stray tears made their way down his face. He closed his eyes and sighed. The pain was still there, and he couldn't help but feel endlessly guilty.

Because of that day, he had decided that he would become a singer. He had originally planned to be an artist. He had wanted to draw and paint and do all sorts of things, but that all changed. Now the music he sang was the only thing that really gave life to his existence. Knowing that somehow, somewhere his mother might be listening to him sing was what gave him the strength to get up every day.

And that's how he got into singing again. He had stopped after his mother's departure, but one night he had a dream. His mother sang to _him _in this dream. That night he woke up screaming and crying out for his mother. And that's when he decided he would sing again. He would sing for her, and he would sing for himself.

He was friends with one of the music teachers at his community college and he struck a deal with him and the dean. He'd only take that one class and hopefully continue his career as a singer in the long-run.

But just because he only took one class with a teacher he knew didn't mean it would be free. On the contrary, he had to pay the same expense as any other student. He had to pay for books, materials and every other who-knows-what the teacher decided they needed to complete the curriculum. And thus, here he was working at Johnny Rockets as a waiter.

But he was a terrible waiter.

There is definitely no doubt in that. Sometimes he forgot which table ordered what, sometimes he got the orders wrong, sometimes he had even spilled something (thankfully not on the customers, but on himself). And sometimes- no actually _every time_ he did something like that, it was all docked from his pay check.

You might ask, if he's such a terrible waiter, then why the heck is he even working there?

Well simply because he's the hottest, most gorgeous employee in the whole restaurant!

Or so says Peggy his co-worker.

According to her, he was hired because he looked simply drop-dead gorgeous. He laughed it off as it being one of her fan-attacks. Yes she was definitely one of his fans.

She was infatuated with him, hell she'd probably watch him in his sleep if he let her. But he had made sure to let her know that he wasn't interested. Not because he didn't like her, heavens no. She was funny, she was smart, she was very pretty and she was very kind. (Except for those estranged moments where she would go all psycho over him.) She was the perfect woman.

But he wasn't looking for the perfect woman. He was looking for the perfect man.

That's right! Steve Rogers was gay. And when Peggy found out, she flipped a shit. But not the way you think. Not at all.

The moment Steve came clean to her, she stayed quiet. She had her poker face placed neatly upon her head and she was calm.

Which only endure the length of five seconds.

Then she started crying. Oh the crying. It was as if you had personally taken her puppy and killed it with safety scissors. She cried, she bawled and Steve was shocked into paralysis. Never in his life had he dealt with a crying woman, and it is now why he understood why men did the best they could to keep their women happy.

Then she started wailing around in the back of the restaurant and everyone though he had threatened her with rape and was holding her hostage.

The manager burst through the doors demanding to know what was going on. But before Steve could explain to him calmly what was happening, Peggy opened her mouth and yelled as she pointed at him.

"HE'S GAY JOE! HE'S GAY! MY FUTURE HUSBAND IS GAY!" And then she began sobbing.

Joe only looked at her once before his eyes landed on Steve. Steve, the pour soul, was as red as a tomato and his jaw was almost two feet below the rest of his cranium.

Joe only asked him "Is this true?" and Steve nodded dejectedly. What he didn't expect was for Joe to burst out laughing and collapsing on the floor. The man was holding his sides as he laughed and rolled on the floor like a fish out of water. He laughed so hard that Steve was sure the entire restaurant was trembling with the magnitude.

Steve wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

Peggy, on the other hand, was not too thrilled. She immediately stopped her theatrics and began badgering her superior.

"Why in the world are you laughing Joe?"

Joe was rolling on the floor, laughing his ass off and wheezing through clenched teeth. He had tears trailing down his cheeks and his boisterous laughter carried over the whole establishment. He was in no position to answer and Peggy fumed silently as she placed her hands on her hips.

The patrons were in a way concerned for the well-being of the man. Not because he was turning a scary shade of blue and looked like his head might pop like a birthday balloon, but because he looked like he had gone completely insane. Through the open doors of the backroom, they could see him rolling on the floor and pounding his fist on the floor. He looked absolutely mad and some people were worried he hadn't had his Xanax that morning. But of course the children in the establishment began laughing as well and soon the adults followed suit and the whole building was in chaos.

Steve thought, only for a moment, that they were all laughing at him, but then all those thoughts disappeared when he saw that Peggy was back on the floor. Except this time she was laughing so hard she could practically piss herself. Steve, not knowing what to do, started laughing along with them, but in no time he was laughing full heartedly, because in truth, the situation was very comical.

After Joe finally regained his composure and turned back into a human-ish color, all he said was "Get back to work." He smiled, shook his head and trailed back to his office. Peggy stood up and dusted herself and gave Steve a big grin.

"I'm sorry for going off the deep end there." She said as she walked up to Steve. She opened her arms and said: "Forgive me?"

Steve only smiled, nodded his head and wrapped his arms around the small woman. It was an awkward hug, but it didn't last for long. She pulled away quickly and smiled as she told him to get back to work. They became friends ever since.

After that spazz-attack, everyone smiled at him and business sky rocketed after the episode.

People started coming in more and more and soon the house was packed. And that is how Steve found himself here. He had his shift changed from part-time to full-time. Before, he only came in every other day, but now he had to go every single day.

He looked at his reflection and smiled. That had been an experience he would never change, yet he would never have the balls to go through it again. Ever since that day Peggy became one of his best friends and the rest of the staff became a quite a bit nicer to him.

Except of course for those times where they had to do their musical number.

Every half hour they had to sing and dance. The songs were at random, but they had to know the routine to each and every one of them. Steve only danced in every other routine (i.e. one yes, one no, one yes, one no.) And each routine only lasted about three minutes. He had fun doing these, because that's where he had the chance to shine and show off his singing. And that's exactly why most of the staff envied him. He had an amazing voice and the rest only had some-what average voices. That was reason enough to make Joe assign him as the leader every time they did their show.

Steve was thankful, because this only made him go one step closer to his dream. His goal, and his ambitions seemed to grow closer with every show they had and Steve couldn't wait to finally reach the top of that metaphorical ladder.

But until that day, he was stuck delivering food and milkshakes. He was stuck in a white, skin-tight shirt that had the customary Johnny Rockets name tag with his name emblazoned in bold on it and a pair of black skinnies that he was sure gave everyone a good view of his ass.

He sighed and turned on the faucet. He splashed some water on his face then dried it off with some paper towels. He made sure his hair looked perfect and he smiled a big bright smile. He exited the employee's bathroom and went back outside to the table he had previously been working on.

Once he reached the couple, he took out his note pad and his pencil.

"So, are you ready order?"


	2. Tony's Morning Misshap

While applying toothpaste to his toothbrush, the bristles decided to be evil-shits and slingshot back at him, effectively spraying the minty substance on Tony's eyes.

"Shit!"

He cried out as he tried to keep his eyes opened, trying to keep the paste from running over the whole of his eyes. He leaned down towards the sink to rinse his eyes and promptly smacked his head against the faucet.

"Fuck!"

(Well what a fantastic way to begin your morning, eh?)

He held in his anger and continued to rinse his eyes. Once he managed to dim the stinging (because no matter how hard you try, they're always going to sting), he leaned back, sighed heavily and cursed for a few more minutes. His eyes hurt and his head throbbed, coupled with the fact that he was in a bad mood already was cue for the warning signs to blare and scream at him the one _logical _thing he could attribute to his bad luck.

Today will not be a good day.

And then there was the semi-hang over from last night to think about. He _had _drunk four glasses of Scotch after all. How could anyone possibly think that there would be no repercussions after that? Even though it was only slight- his body was already used to drinking more than that –it was still enough to crawl its way over his head and reign rampage upon his coherent thoughts (how little of those were even left after this morning's spectacular wakeup call). Thinking was as painful as it was to have his eyebrows plucked out with tweezers.

He grimaced. Never in his life would he ever trust Pepper and tweezers again.

He was thankful for the fact that he wasn't a hairy man and that the goatee he sported was as far as he'd go with any kind of hair that wasn't on his head.

That and he was also thankful for eyebrow razors. (Well any kind of razor really.)

"Tony?"

"Almost done Pepper!" He blurted almost impulsively and hastened to finish his doings. He had almost finished his morning routine (use the toilet, take a shower, wash his teeth and fix his hair) and he had no intentions of wasting any more time inside his bathroom than what was required. So without thinking it twice, he opened a can of hair wax and shoved his fingers in it.

He rubbed the substance until it turned soft and malleable, then he dragged his hands over his hair and began sculpting (or so he said) his hair into a perfect (in his opinion) fauxhawk. He didn't have to use an exaggerated amount of wax for the simple fact that he had short and thin hair, so just applying a dollop of wax was enough to get his hair up into its **Tony Stark** look. He was not an overly-vain person, but he still liked to look good (I mean really, who doesn't?). Finally, after all the inspections were completed he strolled back to his room in only his towel which clung dangerously low on his hips.

"Oh my god, Tony!" Pepper promptly slammed her hands upon her eyes and scowled in his general direction.

"Oh please Pepper, you've seen me naked before and besides I have a towel on!"

"That was ONE time Tony! And it was an accident, you know that!"

"Doesn't mean you didn't enjoy it." Tony chuckled and turned towards his closet. In a matter of seconds his head was jerked forward and throbbing **again** when Pepper's clipboard made contact with it.

"Ow! What'd you do that for?"

"To see if your ego would go down a notch you perverted bastard!"

"Ah, you know me so well."

"Shut up and get dressed." Pepper groaned as she threw herself back on Tony's bed. The quicker he dressed, the quicker she could plan his trip. The quicker she planned, the quicker she could leave.

Quick.

Quick.

Quick.

"Alright, alright! Jesus." Tony said as he changed inside his walk-in closet.

"Oh my god, did I say that out loud?"

"Yes."

"Sorry!" All she received was a non-committal grunt.

Tony opted for a black button-down, long-sleeved shirt and some white slacks. He put on his black shoes and he was done.

Of course then he remembered he forgot his underwear.

He cursed as he undid his pants and took them off around his shoes (no point in taking them off since he'd have to put them on again). He looked around for some boxer briefs and found a pair in red. And red being his favorite color, he did not have to think of it twice before they were sliding up his legs and put in place to hide his modesty. Putting his slacks back on, he deemed himself worthy of the presence of the world.

"Alright Pepper, I'm done."

"I hope that's not what you have in mind to wear on your whole stay... wherever it is your gonna stay." Pepper said as she scrutinized her best friend/boss's attire as he strolled out of his walk-in closet. Seriously the man would wear that to sleep if he could and in all honesty, Pepper would rather see him walk in a tank and basketball shorts than have him wear that every day.

But not because she was attracted to him, heavens no! They were practically siblings (contrary to popular belief), there was absolutely, positively, no fucking way that she could ever feel anything else than annoyance and contempt towards him. She adored him of course, there was no denying that, but that was about it. Never had they expressed their need to search for something more within the boundaries of their relationship and they were both happy as could be with the outcome.

But of course she would never deny (nor admit to anyone other than death) that he was an attractive man. She would die before ever uttering those words, but it was an observation too difficult to miss and avoiding it would only mean the beginning of the end of the world (if such thing would ever come soon enough) and that is precisely why she has come to terms with the fact that: Yes, Tony Stark is an attractive man. No, she does not feel the need for him to hold her hand in the dark. And yes, she will do as best as possible to dress the man is the most flattering clothes she can as long as it takes for him to find a partner and end that chapter of their lives.

She knows very well what Tony prefers and that in itself is quite ambiguous. She knows of his apparent bisexuality and his tendency to sleep around, but she also knows that Tony is not in any hurry to settle down and marry any woman (or man) at this point in his life.

"But this is my style!"

Pepper was brought out of her reverie the moment that cry of indignation left Tony's mouth and berated her like a thousand bullets raining upon their unsuspecting victim.

To say that she gave a slight jump at his sudden volume was an understatement.

"I know it is Tony, but that's your every-day work style. You're not going to work. You're gonna relax. I'll allow you to take that and another similar outfit, but that's that. The rest is gonna be t-shirts and jeans."

"But-"

"No buts!"

"Yes mother…"

"Good, now I'm gonna help you pack while you think of where you wanna go. And please, try to make the destination within the states. I don't trust you with foreign languages or foreign countries at all. Remember the last time we were in France?"

"I only got us kicked out of the bar."

"The hotel bar! We were banned from the hotel bar for the length of our stay! And it was only the first day!"

"Ok, I get it. No vacationing outside of the states…"

"Good."

A few moments of silence passed.

"Are you sure I can't go to Canada?"

"No!"

"Ok."

Pepper huffed and continued her task.

She busied herself with choosing the best outfits she could for Tony. If there was one thing she was good at, it was fashion (Well actually, no. She was extraordinary in that department and "good" in many, many, many, other things. She chose a few jeans and she made sure to toss some slim fit jeans in as well. Tony looked good in skinny jeans, but he never admitted to liking them. So instead, she got him the next best thing; slim fits. They were pretty much the same, except they didn't hug his ass so much.

She thought about the time she first introduced skinny jeans to him. He was adamant about wearing anything of the sort because apparently he felt that they were too skimpy. Or in his words: _"I feel like a freaking hooker wearing these things! They're like a second pair of skin! I feel completely naked and not in a good way! I don't want people to check out my ass!__ I don't fancy getting eye-raped and I most certainly am not wearing these atrocities!"_

Fifteen minutes later he was at a party wearing dark-wash skinny jeans. Everyone's eyes bulged and seemingly gravitated towards him. To say Tony had a good night would have been an understatement.

Pepper chuckled at the fact that she was the one that forced him into wearing them. He would never admit that: _thanks to her_, he scored a major deal with a CEO from one of his company's adversaries and all because his daughter practically demanded that he work with Tony simply because she was completely in love with his ass.

Pepper now dresses him more often than not.

She halted her ministrations in 2.5 seconds and the cogs in her head began turning at a fast speed. She pondered for a moment in silence and then a wicked grin splashed itself on her face. She took out all the jeans she had packed prior and made a mad dash for Tony's closet.

Just because Tony didn't like skinny jeans, didn't mean she didn't stash them in his closet. Praying that he had not thrown them out, she ransacked the jungle called Tony Stark's closet: Pants section.

Yes they were divided in sections.

She reached the racks furthest back and with a gleeful "Aha!" she found her target (or targ**ets**). There were like fifty skinny jeans in the racks and she could not wait to throw them into his suitcase. They were all different colors and shades and patterns. She even got him some zebra skinny's as an April Fool's joke. Why he still had them she had no idea. But then again, considering the fact that he didn't look a day over 22, he could pull them off, no sweat! Perhaps he had a secret fetish that she didn't know about?

(Ok eww. No. Just no. Cease and desist. Those thoughts are terrible for anyone's health and she might as well stick needles on her eyes before dwelling on what kinds of things happen in Tony's room late at night. Gaaahh!)

She mentally slapped herself senseless and then shook her head to dispel those atrophic nightmares that clogged up her brain.

After her impromptu-death-wish-episode, she began choosing the pants as if she were choosing flavors at an ice cream shop. Dark washed, light washed, dark blue, onyx black, ivory white, faded patterns and finally, hooligan standard. (The pants had holes on the knees, duhh!)

Tony loved rock, metal and some other kinds of music she could never remember. All she knew was that most of the bands he liked were composed of members, who had long hair, wore make up and used pants with holes in them.

She inspected each pair like a psychologist inspects a psychopath and after a few moments of deliberation, she nodded her approval. Each pair of pants could be worn exactly two days or more (who cares how many times he repeats the same pants?) and he could mix and match them easily with whatever shirt he chose.

She made her way back to the briefcase- making sure Tony was distracted with something else AKA: destination planning -and then she quickly folded the pants and slammed them in the briefcase as quickly as possible. She was almost caught, for the last pair was tossed in only a second before he turned to look at her.

"I've got it!" He snapped his fingers. "Texas!"

"Texas?"

"What? No good?"

"Well Texas has a heat streak coming up and I doubt you'd enjoy it very much."

"Oh… Dammit." Tony turned back to pacing around his room as he mumbled to himself.

If Tony was bad at something, it was choosing a last-minute destination. Give him at least two days and he would measure out the pros and cons of any place he desired. But with only twelve hours at maximum, he had absolutely no idea how to choose. That was mostly because his genius intellect and his default male setting called cant-make-a-decision-under-pressure-from-a-woman (or just indecision if you'd like) were both in battle for dominance inside his little-big brain.

While he battled his internal war, Pepper had gone back to packing. She had already chosen two pairs of swim trunks and four pairs of shoes. Whenever Tony wasn't dressed formally, he loved wearing his Converse. And that is why Pepper stashed his favorite pair and three additional pairs. One black pair, one blue pair, and one white pair. Of course, his favorite pair being the red ones. She chucked in some black sandals for good measure and finally began the raid for tops.

Tony was a fashionable man as it was, but since he was going on vacation, there was no need to go all the way to fashion-model-worthy kind of clothes. She simply chose a few band tees, some V-necks, a Henley and a black polo. She dropped them into the suitcase and continued with her task. (And by _dropped_ I mean neatly folded and placed strategically to make space.) She gave in to packing a few button-down shirts, but she made sure that they either had short sleeves and vibrant colors or long sleeves with design patterns. They were hard to use as formal wear and she was fairly proud of herself.

But then she noticed that most of these clothes would fit Tony quite snugly. She didn't pack with the intention of making him look like a male slut, but it just sort of happened. It was unintentional. She wasn't really thinking about it before she looked down into the suitcase. She was beginning to regret her decision when Tony startled the living lights out of her.

"AHA!" Tony shouted. "Seattle! What do you think?" Tony wiggled his eyebrows as he stretched his arms in a 'Ta'da' motion.

Pepper had to put a hand to her chest to keep her heart from bursting out and running away like the Tasmanian devil. She cleared her throat before answering.

"Tony, Washington has a cold climate with high probabilities of rain this time of year. Do you really wanna be stuck somewhere where it rains and snows almost every day?"

"But I love the snow!"

"Do you really wanna be stuck somewhere so close to the set of Twilight?"

Tony's smile became a wince of horror in 1.5 Nano-seconds.

"I thought so…" Pepper said as she turned around and zipped up the main compartment of Tony's suit case.

She had packed all the essentials. His underwear was already there. The pants and shirts were checked. Shoes were checked and only personal effects where left to pack.

"Tony I need you to go get your toothbrush,-" Tony grumbled at the mention of it. "-your deodorant, perfume, medications, whatever it is that you need."

"I don't take pills Pepper."

"No, but you sometimes get those allergy attacks that make you resemble a sloth in its worst days."

"Ah, _those_ medications." Tony knew when to take a joke and he certainly held no grudge towards her. (See? Because he's awesome like that!)

He walked over to his dresser and slid open a drawer. He stuck his hand inside and then it resurfaced with a bottle of Singulair in its grip. He tossed the bottle to his assistant and she expertly caught it, dropping it inside the suitcase as well. Tony disappeared into his bathroom to look for his other things while Pepper made a mental list of the things they had packed. Might as well make sure everything is in place.

When Tony came back, he was carrying his deodorant, shaving razor, perfume and a little black box.

"What's in the box?" (She wasn't being suspicious! Honest! She was just being curious, I swear.)

"Eye drops, ear plugs, Vicks, and all sorts of small necessities." Tony gave her a look that clearly said _do I have to explain myself to you all the time? _She gave an exasperated huff and crossed her arms.

"Alright." She said.

After checking and double checking to make sure everything was in place, Pepper sat on Tony's bed and Tony laid back on it in an exasperated fashion.

Tony hated being under pressure.

He could handle many, many things. But pressure was something he was terrible at working with. Normally, he'd have at least a week to make a decision. Whatever kind of decision that was. If by any chance he had to improvise, then hell, he could create a whole script in less than two seconds. But making an important choice under pressure- no wait, under the pressure of a woman, Pepper no less-well that was a completely different story.

Pepper, of course, was aware of Tony's condition. Even though sometimes it exasperated her to no end, she had grown accustomed to this kind of behavior, so she gave him his time to think and ponder and keep as calm as possible. (Even though sometimes she wanted to take a bat and use Tony's head for baseball practice.)

Where were we?

Tony hated being under pressure.

"Why can't you just choose for me?" Tony asked. Because dumping that responsibility on Pepper's shoulders, while not something he was used to doing, was as good as any other means to get away from that hazardous responsibility.

"Because we never agree when _I_ choose a destination. We always end up going where _you _wanna go."

Well damn.

Tony groaned as he rolled around his bed like a petulant child. He was (for all intents and purposes) a child at heart, though what kind of child could be a powerful genius addicted to alcohol and sex, well I have no idea whatsoever.

"Pepper, I promise I won't argue with you."

"Yeah, I've hear that one before."

"Pepper, please! I'm dying here."

"Oh, whatever!"

They sat in silence as Pepper squeezed her brain for a good answer.

"How about Miami?"

"Uh…"

"What?"

"I'm kinda bored of Florida."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah…"

"I thought you weren't gonna argue."

"I'm not arguing."

"And I'm not female."

"The fuck?"

"Tony!"

"Ok, ok! Just not Florida please!"

"Fine…"

Another pregnant pause.

"How about Phoenix?"

"Too close."

Pepper grumbled and Tony was sure he heard a few colorful words.

"Louisiana?"

"Too swampy."

"Oh for the love of God!"

"I'm sorry; it's just that none of those places really call for my attention!"

"Well what would _you _suggest?"

He heard those words again and again and again. He had heard that exact same phrase so many times that his brain decided to play back every single time that Pepper had ever said those exact five words.

His head buzzed with sudden inspiration. Just hearing those words incited a feeling of accomplishment that could only come by finally making up your mind. (Because in all honesty that's what always happened whenever Pepper opened her mouth and recited that same phrase. Again and again and again.)

Tony's body surged forward like a car hitting the brakes at high speed. His head swam for only a few seconds before he jumped all the way towards Pepper. (Like I said: Tony is a child at heart.)

Pepper flinched at the sudden movement and her eyes almost doubled in size when Tony's face came so near hers that it only made her slightly uncomfortable. (And I use the word slightly quite loosely.)

"I've got it!"

Pepper stared at him for what appeared to be a thousand years, waiting for Tony to share his miraculous discovery. But since his grin never disappeared and he never articulated a response, she had to hold herself from pouncing on him and smacking him against the floor until a Tony shaped hole appeared on the (red) carpeted floor.

She sighed and held back any violent urges as she squinted at her best friend/employer and asked in a controlled, low voice.

"Well, what is it?"

Tony, bless his soul (or damn it, same difference), finally resurfaced from his mental reverie. He made an "Oh" expression that almost had her fuming and finally decided to share his thoughts.

"New York!"

"New York?"

"New York!"

"New York…"

"New York!"

"New York."

"For the love of god, Pepper! Yes! The big N.Y.C.!"

"I see."

"You see?"

"No I don't _see_, but if that is what you want, then so be it. I believe it to be reasonable enough."

Tony Stark was a composed man. By no means would he ever display any kind of emotion in public unless it was distaste, amusement, controlled happiness and sometimes even anger. All his emotions and feelings were as muted as possible, and even then he sometimes slipped and became a bit rambunctious.

Then, when he wasn't the same muted Tony Stark the public eye knew him as, and instead became Tony, the genius laid back man he liked to call "himself"; he could let out any form of emotion he liked, be it in an exaggerated, hyperbolic and unnecessary way.

In other words, he just bellowed a "Fuck Yeah!" so loud Pepper was sure that the whole coast of Malibu –scratch that, _th__e ENTIRE west coast_ most probably heard him.

As he fist pumped and did a supposed happy dance, Pepper took out her phone and began her quest into planning Tony's impromptu-vacation.


	3. Steve's Bittersweet Afternoon

A.N./ Ok, I hate doing these cuz I feel like it gets in the way of the story but I deemed it necessary and important enough. So here it goes. I re-read my whole story and I realized that the very first chapter was completely wrong, and by that I mean that I skipped a really important part in the sequence which was [Why Pepper changed her mind so quickly?]. Ya' know how she was badgering Tony for not doing his work then suddenly she pulls a 180 and tells him to stop working? Well yeah, my bad guys. Total fail from my part. So I fixed it (plus a lot of grammatical errors), so if you'd like to go back and read it again, by all means do. Then I fixed the second chapter which was full of grammatical mistakes, so you are welcome to re-read the story if you'd like. (I'm sorry; I'm just a die-hard perfectionist and suffer from a case of OCD called stupidity.) Moving on! So here's the third chapter. Sorry for being so late. I've been lazy as hell and school hasn't made it any easier. (I'm in my high school senior year, can you blame me? Oh well, yes you can.) Hope you guys like it! :) Happy reading!

* * *

His eyes hurt.

His nose was runny.

His face itched.

His stomach churned.

His head throbbed.

His body was sweaty.

His life was shit.

Or so he thought.

For someone who was generally chipper and content, his current mood could put any depressive psycho killer to shame. He had the oddest urge to just punch someone in the face or set the most random thing on fire.

(And really, who could blame him?)

He sniffed and used yet _another_ tissue to wipe his nose. The aforementioned body part was sore and red and terribly abused. He groaned as he sat straight up in an effort to take off his t-shirt. Once the offending garment was peeled off his sweaty body (or living corpse as he referred to it) he threw it rather violently at the hamper, promptly missing his target and landing on the floor.

He scowled and growled at the piece of black fabric (or mutherfucking asshole, same difference).

His right arm shot out and slammed against his desk as he violently searched for someth-Oh! There it is!

He grabbed the small contraption and pressed a button on it. (It's a remote! How did you guess?) A few moments later he pressed yet another button and then his room was filled with music. His satisfaction was not met, so he smashed his finger repeatedly on the **volume+**button until he could feel the bass vibrating in his skull and rattling his teeth.

That did nothing to help his headache.

(Ugghh…)

He ignored the- rather rhythmic -pounding in his head and turned back to stare at the magic window of light he called a monitor. (Not to brag or anything, but his so-called-monitor was actually just his laptop hooked up to his 32inch HD TV.)

A big thanks to Sony and their Bravias, eh?

As I was saying, he stared at his monitor (TV) as he read, over and over, the lines of text he had written only minutes ago. He checked the spelling and grammar for what felt like years until he was satisfied with his outcome. Once he was done with that-

-he checked it again.

Steve Rogers was a smart cookie. He was brilliant in fact! He had graduated High School with high honors and quite a high GPA. Yes, he was smart and he excelled at most of what he did.

Except English.

Or anything that required writing for that matter. He could read hundreds upon thousands of books and he could talk your ear off about pretty much any topic. But writing? He had some sort of mental atrophy that only allowed him to write the most horrid of atrocities that no one had the pleasure of ever understanding. It was, in a sense, correct if you really thought about the meaning and/or context in which his words where placed.

But his grammar sucked ass.

He was better off writing in form of a text message (because those he could write perfectly) instead of having to put together articulated words and fancy-shmancy referential phrases which, in all-do-respect, seemed pointless and moronic to him.

Truth be told, he could do it; of course he could! He could write perfectly if he so desired (he was smart remember?) but his attention span was that of a mosquito whenever it came to writing down whatever happened to float around his estranged mind. Give him a book to memorize and have him recite it completely and he will most likely do it.

Give him an hour to write five pages of "Why Music is Essential to Man Kind's Life" and he will most likely die.

All exaggerations aside, Steve really was under pressure and the fact that he was sick didn't make things any better.

He grumbled as he took the remote from his desk and began smashing the **volume+**button again. But, for some reason, the volume did not rise. He looked back at his radio and pointed the device towards it, bashing the button yet again. Still, the music did not get any louder.

He cursed and turned back towards his computer.

Deciding to check his email, he fired up his browser and set out to read his most recent messages. Skipping over all the junk mail, he came upon his weekly "Your Personal YouTube Digest" email and he clicked on it to see what new videos were out.

The music suddenly stopped and he grumbled. He had forgotten to press the repeat button and now he was stuck without music. He dragged his mouse over to a Ray William Johnson video and clicked on the link.

While the video loaded he played with his mechanical pencil (who uses #2 pencils anymore?) which consequently slipped off his grasp and fell to the floor. (And since it cannot ever stay where it lands, it just had to roll under his desk. He sighed as he leaned down to pick it up.

"HEY WHAT'S UP YOU GUYS!?"

Steve's head promptly slammed against the underside of his desk. "FUCK!" He shouted and crawled away from the offending piece of furniture. (Everything was offensive today.) His pencil had again slipped from his fingers, but right now he did not feel like looking for it.

RayWilliamJohnson was screaming at him and he was panicking over how to lower the TV's volume.

Isn't it funny how things disappear right when you need them the most?

The motherfucking controller just disappeared! I mean, what the fuck, really?

RWJ was still screaming at him and his videos where even louder. His head was crumbling on the inside and he had the sudden urge to sit down and cry.

He snarled at the vlogger and reached behind his desk to pull the muti-plug electric outlet from its socket. He pulled the cable and when it popped out, Ray automatically shut the fuck up.

He cursed his luck but thank the heavens at the fact that his laptop could work properly without the need to be constantly plugged into an electrical source.

He sat back down on his chair and raised the lid of his computer.

_Windows is Shutting Down_

"MOTHER FUCKER!"

One Hour Later

The door slammed behind him as he made his way towards his car. He quickly tossed in all his belongings before he remembered he was supposed to lock the door.

He scurried back to his front door and fished out his keys. Once the door was properly secured he sprinted back towards his car and jumped in. He tied his shoes as fast as he could and zipped his pants up before they decided to slip off. His t-shirt lay in the passenger seat but he had no time to deal with another one of those monstrosities.

(Because really, if you didn't get the message earlier, he is quite offended with these pieces of crap today.)

He jammed the key in the ignition and twisted until his car roared to life. He threw the gear on reverse and backed out of his drive way, he threw the gear on drive and screeched down the road. His neighborhood flew by in a blur as he sped down the street and into the main road. Thankfully he was one of those (very, very few) people that got a 90% in their driving test. Sadly, he was also one of those people that became desperate under pressure.

So as he stomped on the gas pedal, he fumbled with his seatbelt until it snapped into place besides his hip.

He was late and he was late. Late, late, late… Very late.

"DAMMIT!" He cussed as his eyes traveled from the road to the clock on his dash and then back again.

He came to an intersection and stomped on the brake pedal as hi saw the light change from green to red. (Where the fuck did yellow go?) He was changing colors too and it wasn't just because he was sick. The grip on his steering wheel was becoming tighter by the minute and he swore he felt it bend into the shape of his hands.

There were no cars coming from either side and he was tempted to just keep going.

If only there wasn't a cop lounging under a tree right in front of him.

There he was, right there in the corner. Leaning on his "bike" (because let's be honest, those are just customized mopeds with race lines). He had a clear view of the streets (and his iPhone which he was fervently tapping on).

Maybe Steve could make a run for it. The guard wouldn't notice. He most probably wasn't even paying attention to the traffic lights.

He revved the engine and let the car stall forward only a few inches.

The guard looked up and dropped his jaw when he saw the sleek black car inch forward.

"Dammit! You're not supposed to be looking!" Muttered Mr. Rogers. He sighed and thumped his forehead against the stirring wheel as his lungs let out an exasperated sigh.

He turned his attention to the vehicle that came to inhabit the left lane of his street.

There was a white minivan occupied with what looked like soccer moms. (Because those are easily identified) and they all seemed to be sneaking glances his way and whispering amongst themselves. He arched and eyebrow and lifted his head from the steering wheel, chancing a look back at the traffic light. Nope, still red.

Another grunt and he went back to looking at the minivan.

Why where they pointing at him with their cellphones?

An itch settled between his shoulder blades and his hand shot back to eliminate it instantly. At first he was mildly confused when his hands made immediate contact with bare skin. But when he realized he didn't have a shirt on, he flailed his arms and practically dove to the passenger seat to retrieve his t-shirt.

He knew he was read as a tomato (or a fire truck, same thing) and ready to drop off the face of the earth.

Unbuckling his belt, he made an attempt to pull the shirt over his head, but he had to be the smart-ass he always is and pick one of those tight t-shirts (the ones that show off his big muscles) and obviously the hole which his head was supposed to go through was relatively smaller than the aforementioned appendage. It took some struggling but the shirt finally went through his head. His arms had also found their way through and unceremoniously smacked against the first thing they found.

Poor car roof.

"Fuck!" Steve muttered when he pulled back his throbbing hands.

The blast of a car horn distracted him from the pain and he immediately looked up to the traffic light.

It was green.

Thus he stomped on the gas like it was a gigantic bug and sped away towards the university.

But he didn't get quite far before police lights reflected his mirrors and the annoying siren invaded his ears. The mantra of "Fuck fuck fuck fuck" was impossible to miss.

He growled (as much as humanly possible) and stopped on the road-side. He looked on his rear view mirror and saw none other than the corner-under-the-tree guy. (Lucky him, eh?) The cop made a show of getting off his bike (moped), grabbing his ticket-book and strutting forward towards Steve's window. Once there, he leaned on the side of the door and slowly raised his sun glasses.

(Asshole alert! Asshole alert!)

"Sir, do you know why you've been detained on this fine afternoon?"

"No." ("Enlighten me, bitch.")

"You are driving without your seatbelt."

"I am not!"

"Sir you are not wearing your seat belt!"

"Yes I am that is the first thing I do-" His hands came empty when he made a grab for the belt that was supposed to be right over his torso. His eyes widened and he looked at his (now clothed) chest. His eyes landed on his left side and he saw that, indeed, the belt buckle was hanging in its unbuckled position. Taunting him and cursing his existence.

Steve closed his eyes and dropped his forehead (quite painfully) on his steering wheel.

"Shit in a bucket."

30 Minutes Later

"You're late."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Care to explain?"

"Traffic." Steve held up the nice little ticket that the cop was eager to give him.

"I see."

"I can still hand in my work, though, Right?"

"Yes, but you will be penalized for tardiness."

"Alright then." Steve sighed and handed over his essay. The thing was a bitch to write and he hoped he'd at least get an 80 out of 100. He scurried over to his desk and looked at the clock. It was almost 11:00am and he had a lot of things to do.

Three Hours Later

Steve sneezed in a violent manner. He was in a foul mood (again) and all he wanted to do was take the rest of the day to just sleep. His nose was runny and his eyes were burning. His allergies were acting up in the worst way and he didn't like that all.

Then again, who does?

He had finally gotten home and the first thing he did was flop on the couch and let out a big groan.

First a ticket. Then a tardy. Then shit in a bucket.

His day hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. His allergies acted up during most of his classes and he had ended up walking out of class and cooping himself up in the bathroom where he spent majority of his day emptying up the paper towel dispensers and blowing his nose every two seconds.

Today was not a good day.

But Steve couldn't do much about it. He had to suck it up and get ready for work. He went to his kitchen and opened the medicine cabinet. He took a bottle of Singulair and downed the pills in a swift motion. His eyes landed on the stove's clock and he suppressed the urge to groan. If he didn't get ready soon, he would be late for his shift and that wouldn't benefit him at all.

He trudged up the stairs to his room and began peeling his clothes off throwing them wherever he deemed fit. He had no time to focus on being tidy and he simply didn't care at the moment. Buck naked, he strode across his room in search of a towel. Of course it was in the closet, neatly folded and tucked away.

(He could be neat! What the hell 'you thinking?)

He padded into the bathroom and slung the tower over the curtain pipe. He jumped in and started the shower. The warm water beat against his body and he sighed as he felt the tension dissipate from his muscles. He rolled his shoulders and his neck, trying to relax even further. Once he felt he had been relaxed enough, he began the process of washing himself.

He washed his hair in an automatic fashion. There wasn't much to wash so he was quick to get through it. The rest of his body went through a similar process. That was, of course, until he got down to his nether regions.

He had always been a Gillette fan. He loved their products and his bathroom was stocked with a many Gillette related products as possible (or as needed) and he had no shame in it. In this case, one of the many reasons he liked Gillette so much was for the fragrance of their products.

When that manly scent hit him, he got turned on like a switch and it was hard to come down from his high. He had to either work on it or ignore it. Ignoring his little (actually quite big) problem was not something he was good at. So (to put it bluntly) when he touched himself down south and the smell of Gillette Body Wash™ hit his nostrils, he got as hard as a brick. He breathed in deeply and debated whether he should plow down his apparent situation or just turn the other cheek and get to work.

The curtain was pulled back and he checked on the small plastic digital clock he kept in the bathroom… for obvious reasons…

25 minutes left until he had to leave for work.

25 minutes where enough.

He would just have to go quick and hard. It could be done if he was concentrated enough.

He breathed in and grabbed his dick. A shudder racked his body immediately and he sighed as his hand began to pump. His fingers were slick with body wash and they glided over his skin easily. He bit his lip as a certain stroke made his lower stomach tremble. He threw his head back and leaned against the tiled wall which was warm from the hot water's splash.

He pumped faster and harder, his whole body beginning to heat up in the midst of his ministrations. He imagined being stroked by someone else's hand. He pictured a lean, tan body, as it grabbed him and stroked him hard and fast. He moaned as he pictured himself being serviced by big warm hands and sultry eyes.

He handled his length and imagined all the things he'd like to be doing right now. The kind of things he'd like to do with someone else. The kinds of things that made his face turn into a lazy grin as waves upon waves of pleasure saturated his senses from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.

His hips began thrusting into his tight fist and his other hand reached up to tweak a nipple. He gasped and moaned out loud. His thrusts quickened as did his breath. The hot water poured over his thighs and his free hand roamed all over his exposed torso. His chest, his abs, his arms, his legs, everything was touched and caressed.

He fondled his testicles and groaned as his pleasure intensified tenfold. His head began twisting from side to side, his hands played with his dick, and his breathing had become heavy. His moans came in regular intervals now and the steam in the room made his skin tingle with anticipation.

A few more pumps was all it took before he came and moaned loudly. His voice echoed in the bathroom walls and he shuddered as the waves of pleasure racked his body. He stood there, under the spray of water for a few moments until he felt his legs recover from their earlier unbalance.

He straightened up and used more body wash to scrub the rest of his body. The water washed away all evidence of his activities and he was left feeling somewhat satisfied, yet no completely fulfilled.

He'd have a long love session with his hand and his computer when he got back home from work.

He finished his shower, turned off the water and climbed out of the stall. He took a look at the clock…

"I'm fucking late!"

He scrambled to get ready when he noticed that instead of taking 25 minutes, he had taken 45.


End file.
